Pregnancy has emboldened me in many ways. It's odd.
But something I keep fighting with is my reaction to other Christians. Young Christians.
Josh tells me I cannot be the morality police, but there's something about professing Christianity that I believe calls people to a higher standard, and to accountability. The tragic thing is, most people do not want accountability. Or some people say they do, but then get mortally offended when actually held accountable.
Pre-pregnancy, I would read friends' posts on Facebook- Christian friends- and there would be something that I disagreed with or found offensive. I wouldn't say anything pre-pregnancy, but now that I'm five months pregnant and ever aware of the responsibility coming to Josh and I in four short months, I find myself speaking out. Why? I haven't a clue. Maybe it's my hormones. Maybe it's something subconscious preparing me to confront the tough stuff with this child. Maybe I'm just finally fed up with flaky, lukewarm Christians.
And maybe I'm actually mad about the way other "Christians" represent my God.
But here's the thing: I really can't be the morality police. Jesus didn't even do that. Jesus spoke truth---in love; how did he always do that? I fail at that so miserably---but he gave people a choice. The Pharisees and the Sadducees called themselves believers, but they were people Jesus spoke truth to, bold truth, and people Jesus didn't chase down. He let them continue in their hypocrisy and religious falsehood when they chose to ignore Truth himself.
What really has my heart churning, though, is the justification and the arrogance of sin. And maybe it breaks my heart because I know I've done that, and I know it hurt ME. I want so badly to save that hurt for others, but if I can't be the morality police, I certainly can't be Christ either. I cannot save, I cannot redeem, I cannot judge.
And I am not perfect. I have my own flaws and blemishes, to be sure, and I need grace just as much as everyone else. But it still breaks my heart to see young, brazen Christians flirting with the world while at the same time proclaiming to follow my God, and justifying their sin.
And I don't know where my place is in that.
This blog isn't meant to point out anything profound, rather, it's meant to vent. And this blog is an admission: I still need help on this journey, on my own walk, and walking with others. Oh, how often I botch things up.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Goodbye, Good Friend. I'll See You in Nine Months.
To students, the day that summer ends is like a funeral. They mourn the days they didn't get to fully enjoy, and dread the coming days of work and schedules.
But to teachers? The last day of summer is like an old friend leaving for the umpteenth time. It's bittersweet. We'll miss Summer. But the coming adventures in the classroom are something to look forward to. Summer and teachers pick up right where they left off. There is no mourning...at least not until mid-October (that's when the need for a personal day ALWAYS begins tempting me).
This was a great summer. I'm not mourning at all.
I just posted this on Facebook tonight about my summer adventures:
"Signs of a Successful Summer:
A visit to cooler climates to see marvelous friends.
A week at the beach, soaking up sun and laughter with Samantha.
An INCREDIBLE week of youth camp with Delta Chi.
LOTS of time with my Lesslie/Hada family AND my Blain family.
TWO family engagements, which means TWO new sisters.
For King and Country with one of OKWU's summer ministry teams.
Road-tripping with my favorite fella.
A tour of the convent.
Game night with fellow teachers.
One-on-one time with lovely teens.
Baking? Check.
Painting? Check.
Sleeping? Check.
Reading? Check.
House organized? Check!
Yep. I'd say this summer was successful!"
I need to remember this so that when October hits, and especially when May slowly peeks its head around the corner and the chaos of end-of-the-year begins, I can remember that every long marathon of a day, every research paper graded, every cranky student, and every "well meaning" parent were completely worth it.
And Summer will be visiting to pick up where we left off again.
I've heard many comments this summer about how teachers "have it made; they only teach nine months a year and get paid a full salary."
Yes... we do... but we're also exhausted. We take our work (even though every wise college professor tells us not to) home with us. And our work does not just include grading. It includes the burdens of our students. The drama of those "well-intended" parents. The kick-back of nationally inducted fix-alls to education that will only last for five or six years until the next fix-all comes along and the cycle repeats itself all over again.
I'm proud of what I do, and I love that I get to do it, but summer is my reprieve.
However, I cannot lie. I'm so excited for the beginning of a fresh school year I may have trouble sleeping tonight.
Last year was a great year teaching in Kansas. I work with an incredible team of teachers and administrators, and I loved my students. It was a grueling year, though. I was exhausted with all of the extra curriculars I picked up (Scholars' Bowl, SADD, after prom, and softball), but they were worth the exhaustion.
God has called me to teach so that I can live in such a way that others can see Him. Education, like so many of the jobs you all fill and feel called to, is a mission field. I fail so often at being his hands and feet. But I am called to merely plant seeds. God will grow and nourish those seeds.
The exhaustion is worth it, because I know I'm not doing it alone. Even if I don't see the harvest, I know the crops will flourish under the Son.
And Summer will visit again. We'll smile at one another, jump right back into our last conversation, and play until the departure calls again.
I have the best job in the whole world. I get to be a teacher.
But to teachers? The last day of summer is like an old friend leaving for the umpteenth time. It's bittersweet. We'll miss Summer. But the coming adventures in the classroom are something to look forward to. Summer and teachers pick up right where they left off. There is no mourning...at least not until mid-October (that's when the need for a personal day ALWAYS begins tempting me).
This was a great summer. I'm not mourning at all.
I just posted this on Facebook tonight about my summer adventures:
"Signs of a Successful Summer:
A visit to cooler climates to see marvelous friends.
A week at the beach, soaking up sun and laughter with Samantha.
An INCREDIBLE week of youth camp with Delta Chi.
LOTS of time with my Lesslie/Hada family AND my Blain family.
TWO family engagements, which means TWO new sisters.
For King and Country with one of OKWU's summer ministry teams.
Road-tripping with my favorite fella.
A tour of the convent.
Game night with fellow teachers.
One-on-one time with lovely teens.
Baking? Check.
Painting? Check.
Sleeping? Check.
Reading? Check.
House organized? Check!
Yep. I'd say this summer was successful!"
I need to remember this so that when October hits, and especially when May slowly peeks its head around the corner and the chaos of end-of-the-year begins, I can remember that every long marathon of a day, every research paper graded, every cranky student, and every "well meaning" parent were completely worth it.
And Summer will be visiting to pick up where we left off again.
I've heard many comments this summer about how teachers "have it made; they only teach nine months a year and get paid a full salary."
Yes... we do... but we're also exhausted. We take our work (even though every wise college professor tells us not to) home with us. And our work does not just include grading. It includes the burdens of our students. The drama of those "well-intended" parents. The kick-back of nationally inducted fix-alls to education that will only last for five or six years until the next fix-all comes along and the cycle repeats itself all over again.
I'm proud of what I do, and I love that I get to do it, but summer is my reprieve.
However, I cannot lie. I'm so excited for the beginning of a fresh school year I may have trouble sleeping tonight.
Last year was a great year teaching in Kansas. I work with an incredible team of teachers and administrators, and I loved my students. It was a grueling year, though. I was exhausted with all of the extra curriculars I picked up (Scholars' Bowl, SADD, after prom, and softball), but they were worth the exhaustion.
God has called me to teach so that I can live in such a way that others can see Him. Education, like so many of the jobs you all fill and feel called to, is a mission field. I fail so often at being his hands and feet. But I am called to merely plant seeds. God will grow and nourish those seeds.
The exhaustion is worth it, because I know I'm not doing it alone. Even if I don't see the harvest, I know the crops will flourish under the Son.
And Summer will visit again. We'll smile at one another, jump right back into our last conversation, and play until the departure calls again.
I have the best job in the whole world. I get to be a teacher.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Cheap Shots and Word Scars
I
overheard a student calling her mom this morning; I was in the zone of early
morning preparations, and her tone snapped me out of my thoughts.
“I
KNOW, Mom! I don’t care if you
told him I would. Mom. Mom. Mom! I’m NOT
going! Well you don’t know…Mom. Mom! MOM!!!! I’M NOT
GOING! I’ve got to get to class. Click.”
My
heart surged for a second due to the anger I felt on the mother’s behalf, and
then a great sadness as disappointment and a jolting reality hit.
My
disappointment was due to the stereotype of “this generation is so bad; back in
my day…”
But
then reality: I’ve talked to my mother like that.
There
are so many phases of being a teenager, and sadly, teenagers think they know it
all and can talk down any person who contradicts them. How very brazen. And I remember that phase.
But
I’m seeing things very differently the older I get. I cherish my mother, and wish I had listened to her wisdom that I
now covet when I was a teen. I
swallowed a large dose of pride somewhere in college as the Lord broke my
rebellion and softened my heart to authority. I won’t lie- I still have to pray for God’s help in this
area. I’m a bold woman who has a
large independent streak, which God knows is in me. But as a teacher, I’m called to model teamwork and
character, and my at-times snotty attitude can’t come into play or I won’t keep
my job, a job I feel called to.
A
student called me a “bitch” this week, and maybe this is why this one phone
call is so disturbing to me. I’ve
seen God work in my life, but so many of my students don’t know him. The student on the phone? She’s living for herself, and has not desire to make time for God in this phase of her life.
What
I see in this generation is a desire to justify every ill thought, mean word,
and hurtful action rather than take responsibility, rather than apologize, and
rather than change.
The
student who called me a “bitch” didn’t mean for me to hear, but I did. So when I confronted her to tell her
that kind of behavior would not fly with me, she said, “I said it about you,
not to you.” As if that made it
okay? That absolutely justified
nothing.
People,
I don’t care who they are, deserve respect. They deserve grace and great forgiveness. So I write to remind myself that with
God’s help, I can love and forgive students who use cheap and hurtful
words. If God could change me in
that way, I know he can change them too.
I thank the Lord he has shown me the value of people, especially my
incredible mom and dad.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Remembering an Island
After three years of marriage, and two cross-country moves, I think I finally have every box of my old bedroom's contents removed from my parents' house (and boy are they thankful!).
I had a great chat with a dear friend from Idaho tonight, and after I got off the phone, Josh was pouring over his Sunday school lesson, so I grabbed a box and started sifting through it.
It's so funny to me that I didn't realize the calling to become a teacher until my second year of college. It wasn't until God made it blatantly obvious that I was not to become a doctor that I realized he was calling me to be a teacher. Looking back, I think God made that calling clear from an early age- I just refused to see it. I never played with toys as a child, instead, I dug discarded mail out of the post office trashcan and pretended to write letters to students (and what an incredible infringement of privacy, and most likely a felony!). So it is also funny to me that three of the boxes I just transported home are not full of trinkets or clothes, but letters. And notes. And pictures.
I have three boxes FULL of paper!
I think God made no mistake in calling me to be a teacher, an English teacher.
The box I pulled out tonight was overflowing with old music programs, college acceptance letters, and much to my surprise, emails sent and received while in Jamaica over the course of three different summers.
My initial thoughts while reading were, "How was I ever so accident prone?" I went to the Jamaican E.R. twice, and received many death threats, but for some reason, I kept going back.
I also wondered, "How on earth did my mom and dad let me travel to a foreign country, alone, at the age of fifteen?!" The first summer I flew down there was a miscommunication, and no one was at the airport to pick me up for nearly three hours. I remember, vividly, the horror I felt as Jamaican men whistled and cat-called, saying "Come 'ere, sweet ting, get in my car. I'll take you home." I think back to clutching my bags and sobbing as hot rain poured from the sky, and I thought intensely about turning around and catching the first flight back to the United States.
But I'm so glad my mom and dad said 'yes' to Kingston. My youth pastor and his wife said, "She can do it- she'll be okay," and my parents trusted that God had a plan.
Almost daily, I have memories of Jamaica. I remember it's people and poverty, it's sun-kissed beaches and tropical waters, it's danger and crime. And it's missionaries.
Rex and Jan Harmon and Quentin and Sally Reese made such a huge impact in my life. Their examples of faith stretched me and encouraged me. Looking back, I think it was that first trip to Jamaica in 2002 that really pushed me to make my faith in Christ personal and authentic because for the first time in my life, being a Christian wasn't easy. Desperation had never felt or looked more real, and I wanted to cling to Hope.
One day, I would really love to take Josh to Kingston, and visit the people of Trench Town. I talk about that Caribbean island so often, and what a joy it would be for Josh to see the group of people who will forever be in my heart, and meet the missionaries who impacted me so greatly.
To each of you who shared in those Jamaican memories, thank you for investing in me. Thank you for praying for my safety, preparation, and use. Thank you for supporting my financial needs. Thank you, Kevin and Sharla, for seeing something in me that I didn't see in myself. Mom and Dad, thank you for trusting God to take care of me when you were thousands of miles away. Rex and Jan, Quentin and Sally, thank you for pouring your love into a 15-year-old girl from Haven, Kansas. Rex and Jan, thank you for continuing to impact the kingdom in Jamaica.
Some of my favorite memories took place in Jamaica. And that island will forever be imprinted on my heart.
I had a great chat with a dear friend from Idaho tonight, and after I got off the phone, Josh was pouring over his Sunday school lesson, so I grabbed a box and started sifting through it.
It's so funny to me that I didn't realize the calling to become a teacher until my second year of college. It wasn't until God made it blatantly obvious that I was not to become a doctor that I realized he was calling me to be a teacher. Looking back, I think God made that calling clear from an early age- I just refused to see it. I never played with toys as a child, instead, I dug discarded mail out of the post office trashcan and pretended to write letters to students (and what an incredible infringement of privacy, and most likely a felony!). So it is also funny to me that three of the boxes I just transported home are not full of trinkets or clothes, but letters. And notes. And pictures.
I have three boxes FULL of paper!
I think God made no mistake in calling me to be a teacher, an English teacher.
The box I pulled out tonight was overflowing with old music programs, college acceptance letters, and much to my surprise, emails sent and received while in Jamaica over the course of three different summers.
My initial thoughts while reading were, "How was I ever so accident prone?" I went to the Jamaican E.R. twice, and received many death threats, but for some reason, I kept going back.
I also wondered, "How on earth did my mom and dad let me travel to a foreign country, alone, at the age of fifteen?!" The first summer I flew down there was a miscommunication, and no one was at the airport to pick me up for nearly three hours. I remember, vividly, the horror I felt as Jamaican men whistled and cat-called, saying "Come 'ere, sweet ting, get in my car. I'll take you home." I think back to clutching my bags and sobbing as hot rain poured from the sky, and I thought intensely about turning around and catching the first flight back to the United States.
But I'm so glad my mom and dad said 'yes' to Kingston. My youth pastor and his wife said, "She can do it- she'll be okay," and my parents trusted that God had a plan.
Almost daily, I have memories of Jamaica. I remember it's people and poverty, it's sun-kissed beaches and tropical waters, it's danger and crime. And it's missionaries.
Rex and Jan Harmon and Quentin and Sally Reese made such a huge impact in my life. Their examples of faith stretched me and encouraged me. Looking back, I think it was that first trip to Jamaica in 2002 that really pushed me to make my faith in Christ personal and authentic because for the first time in my life, being a Christian wasn't easy. Desperation had never felt or looked more real, and I wanted to cling to Hope.
One day, I would really love to take Josh to Kingston, and visit the people of Trench Town. I talk about that Caribbean island so often, and what a joy it would be for Josh to see the group of people who will forever be in my heart, and meet the missionaries who impacted me so greatly.
To each of you who shared in those Jamaican memories, thank you for investing in me. Thank you for praying for my safety, preparation, and use. Thank you for supporting my financial needs. Thank you, Kevin and Sharla, for seeing something in me that I didn't see in myself. Mom and Dad, thank you for trusting God to take care of me when you were thousands of miles away. Rex and Jan, Quentin and Sally, thank you for pouring your love into a 15-year-old girl from Haven, Kansas. Rex and Jan, thank you for continuing to impact the kingdom in Jamaica.
Some of my favorite memories took place in Jamaica. And that island will forever be imprinted on my heart.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Pain is Pain
I found myself stunned today, silently pleading that God would give me wisdom I knew I didn't have.
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird continues to hit the heart of readers some fifty years after its original publication date. The responses from my students in Idaho to the injustices of deep South racism made me fall in love all over again with the book I read as a 16-year-old, but my students in Kansas today made me remember why this book continues to appeal to teenagers: it's relevant.
Charles Lamb once said, "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once."
Quite a packed quote.
If children are viewed as honest, carefree, naive, selfless, and innocent beings, contrast them with the stereotype that tends to be placed on lawyers: lying, uptight, all-business, selfish, greedy, and desensitized beings. Are all lawyers this way? Absolutely not. But the lawyers who fit this list of adjectives, unfortunately, tarnish the names of a profession, not just their own.
One of Lee's most prevalent themes in the novel is the loss of innocence.
Lawyers, too, were once innocent and naive, as children are. But the harsh realities of their profession wore their innocence away. Slowly over time or quickly in one instance makes no difference. Innocence lost cannot be regained.
And so I posed the question: "Can you remember an age or a specific moment where you felt your innocence was lost?"
The first student said, "When my grandpa died. We were really close." He was age 8.
The second student said, "When I got cancer." She was age 4.
The next student said, "When my dad left." He was age 4.
And the next student said, "When I visited my mom in prison. I couldn't hug her when it was time to say goodbye." He was age 7.
The classroom was very quiet, because I didn't call on the next student to share.
I had a hard time recovering, so I just stopped, praying for wisdom.
For many of my students today, their innocence wasn't just worn down over time, it was ripped out of their hands before they even knew what was happening.
Jerry Bridges said, "God never allows pain without a purpose in the lives of His children. He never allows Satan, nor circumstances, nor any ill-intending person to afflict us unless He uses that affliction for our good. God never wastes pain. He always causes it to work together for our ultimate good, the good of conforming us more to the likeness of His Son."
Romans 8: 28 and 29 say, "...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters."
I told my students that they each have a story, and their stories matter. No pain is wasted. I thanked them for sharing their stories with me, and went silent again.
The silence hung for about ten seconds, then the bell rang and the students were dismissed. But I cannot get names off of my heart this evening.
I've carried home the hurts of my students today, but I'm also rejoicing in Hope. Hope endured pain, for us, and I know that we don't hurt alone or unnoticed. And as Josh said after I shared today's events with him, "Pain is pain, and kids are kids," in Idaho, and here in Kansas. And I believe our God can handle our hurts.
Our stories really do matter.
What's yours?
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird continues to hit the heart of readers some fifty years after its original publication date. The responses from my students in Idaho to the injustices of deep South racism made me fall in love all over again with the book I read as a 16-year-old, but my students in Kansas today made me remember why this book continues to appeal to teenagers: it's relevant.
Charles Lamb once said, "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once."
Quite a packed quote.
If children are viewed as honest, carefree, naive, selfless, and innocent beings, contrast them with the stereotype that tends to be placed on lawyers: lying, uptight, all-business, selfish, greedy, and desensitized beings. Are all lawyers this way? Absolutely not. But the lawyers who fit this list of adjectives, unfortunately, tarnish the names of a profession, not just their own.
One of Lee's most prevalent themes in the novel is the loss of innocence.
Lawyers, too, were once innocent and naive, as children are. But the harsh realities of their profession wore their innocence away. Slowly over time or quickly in one instance makes no difference. Innocence lost cannot be regained.
And so I posed the question: "Can you remember an age or a specific moment where you felt your innocence was lost?"
The first student said, "When my grandpa died. We were really close." He was age 8.
The second student said, "When I got cancer." She was age 4.
The next student said, "When my dad left." He was age 4.
And the next student said, "When I visited my mom in prison. I couldn't hug her when it was time to say goodbye." He was age 7.
The classroom was very quiet, because I didn't call on the next student to share.
I had a hard time recovering, so I just stopped, praying for wisdom.
For many of my students today, their innocence wasn't just worn down over time, it was ripped out of their hands before they even knew what was happening.
Jerry Bridges said, "God never allows pain without a purpose in the lives of His children. He never allows Satan, nor circumstances, nor any ill-intending person to afflict us unless He uses that affliction for our good. God never wastes pain. He always causes it to work together for our ultimate good, the good of conforming us more to the likeness of His Son."
Romans 8: 28 and 29 say, "...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters."
I told my students that they each have a story, and their stories matter. No pain is wasted. I thanked them for sharing their stories with me, and went silent again.
The silence hung for about ten seconds, then the bell rang and the students were dismissed. But I cannot get names off of my heart this evening.
I've carried home the hurts of my students today, but I'm also rejoicing in Hope. Hope endured pain, for us, and I know that we don't hurt alone or unnoticed. And as Josh said after I shared today's events with him, "Pain is pain, and kids are kids," in Idaho, and here in Kansas. And I believe our God can handle our hurts.
Our stories really do matter.
What's yours?
Friday, August 24, 2012
Pity Party: Table for One
A new school year is well underway.
After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students. Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.
We are one week down already, which is hard to believe. In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless. I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."
My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.
As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away. Worth.
Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.
School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho. I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap. And very weak. And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.
In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing. I was naive. I was scared to tell my authority no. I was weak.
And I hate that.
And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth. Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer.
The injustice of what happened makes me angry. But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it.
The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. I play the what-if game often.
"What if I had stood up for myself?"
"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"
"What if the union had backed me?"
What if...what if...what if...
I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that? It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.
I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week.
During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on. They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth.
This summer I have felt like King David. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"
But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.
The pity party is a farce!
The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.
The world may whisper, "You're worthless!" But God whispers, "You're worth it!" And so he sent his son...for us.
For me.
For my own inadequacies and my own failures. For my own sins.
And he gives more grace.
More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.
And I have worth, because I have Him.
And He has you.
Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...
After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students. Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.
We are one week down already, which is hard to believe. In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless. I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."
My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.
As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away. Worth.
Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.
School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho. I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap. And very weak. And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.
In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing. I was naive. I was scared to tell my authority no. I was weak.
And I hate that.
And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth. Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer.
The injustice of what happened makes me angry. But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it.
The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. I play the what-if game often.
"What if I had stood up for myself?"
"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"
"What if the union had backed me?"
What if...what if...what if...
I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that? It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.
I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week.
During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on. They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth.
This summer I have felt like King David. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"
But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.
The pity party is a farce!
The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.
The world may whisper, "You're worthless!" But God whispers, "You're worth it!" And so he sent his son...for us.
For me.
For my own inadequacies and my own failures. For my own sins.
And he gives more grace.
More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.
And I have worth, because I have Him.
And He has you.
Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Catching Up
I was a bit shocked when I logged on this morning to realize it has been several months since either Josh or I posted on our blog. Life has changed quite a bit for us.
In February both Josh and I lost a grandparent. His grandpa, Elmore, passed away from ALS on February 16, and my grandma, Karla, passed away from cancer on February 23. The day of my grandma's funeral service, we were heart sick. We were praying about the losses of two beloved grandparents, asking God how we could move forward. Then the phone rang.
A pastor in north central Kansas was curious if Josh might be interested in an assistant pastor position, primarily focused on leading youth. I jumped on the Kansas ed website, and behold, the same small town where the church was had an English opening.
We began to pray. We asked God to not only open doors in Concordia if that was the place for us, but we also asked God to close doors in Kooskia so that we would know his ministry for us there was finished.
God is good.
We flew down in late March and fell in love with the church. Pastor David offered Josh the position on a Thursday morning, and four hours later, Concordia High School called to offer me a high school language arts position. We were both ecstatic to see God's hand moving in our lives.
Getting home though, we realized how difficult it would be to tell our church people. Upon telling Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church of our plans, they decided it best to close the church and for the church body to join another local church. A definite door was closed.
I was still struggling with leaving Clearwater Valley High School. I loved my job, coworkers, and students, and didn't particularly want to leave, but God closed that door as well. I won't get into the details, but Josh and I both feel God saved us from heartache that was coming. Idaho education is messy right now, and a few things happened at the tail end of school that would have made returning in the fall difficult.
My students did ask that I speak at graduation, which was a huge honor and a wonderful way to say goodbye to CVHS. This class of seniors snuck into my heart.
Graduation was June 8, and Josh and I pulled out of Kooskia, Idaho, in a U-Haul on June 17. What a whirlwind! My cousin Samantha flew up from Texas to help us get everything packed, then helped with the driving on the way to Kansas. It was so wonderful to have her! She'll be a senior in high school this fall, so I know opportunities like these must be cherished! I think we might still be in Idaho if Sam hadn't helped.
We've already gotten to see a grandpa, a great grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, both sets of our parents, one of Josh's brothers, my brother, sister-in-law and nephews, and another of Josh's brothers and his girlfriend are coming up tonight for the 4th festivities. We are richly blessed by the closeness of family.
Concordia Wesleyan Church has already been a huge blessing. We do miss the Idaho church body that we worshiped with, but we're finding that this Kansas church body is very lovable as well. Youth camp is just a week away, and we're so excited to see what God has in store.
A whirlwind indeed!
Much love to each of you. As God has been working in our lives, I'm excited to hear how he's been working in yours!
Friday, April 27, 2012
Dead Language
One day this week, I was grading at my desk as students filtered in after lunch for Senior English. I was very focused on what I was doing, so I only semi-heard the following statement: "Mrs. Blain, did you know Greek is a dead language?"
I paused, thinking, "Hmm...something in that statement did not sound quite right."
I looked up, now very curious about the factoid, and saw one of my senior boys, beaming as if he had just shared the most shocking news I would ever hear in my entire life.
"Pardon me?"
"Greek. Did you know it's a dead language?"
Ah, the smirk on his proud face. I can still see it in my mind. He was so excited to know something shocking, edgy, and awe inspiring.
I blinked a few times, and very dryly replied, "Then what do they speak in Greece?"
******Pause******
Me again. "Do you mean Latin?"
******Pause******
A very meek, "Oh. Yes." escaped from my students lips.
I was trying so hard not to burst into laughter, then another student piped up, "You thought Greek was a dead language!?" His laughter is what truly got me going.
I couldn't help it, and I felt terrible. Giggles erupted before I could stop them, but thankfully, my fact captain joined in the laughter at his own blunder.
So, let me ask you, "Did you know Greek is a dead language?!"
Monday, March 5, 2012
King Lear Never Had a Chance
Some things...we just never quite...outgrow.
Something I thought I had put to rest in my college days reared its ugly head today in the middle of my English IV Dual Credit lecture.
We just started King Lear today, potentially the most desperate and sad of all Shakespeare's plays.
It was absolutely serious.
We had already divvied up character parts, and the King Lear character, one very witty National Merit Scholar, spoke these two words of his line: "Here now!"
These are two very ordinary words, but my student did it in the Valerie voice from The Princess Bride. You know, the very old, shaky voiced British woman?
This was something I had absolutely not anticipated, and I lost it.
Only I had just taken a very large gulp of coffee.
And it all came spewing out of my mouth and nose.
King Lear didn't have a chance.
My classroom burst into laughter for a full five minutes. When things had just started to settle down, one of my front row students yelled, "Mrs. Blain! You've broken out in hives!"
Yes. I sure had.
We'll just call them humiliation hives.
Guess we'll give King Lear another shot tomorrow, and I'll leave the coffee for the professionals.
Sweet Jesus, thank you for humor. Some days I take myself way too seriously.
Something I thought I had put to rest in my college days reared its ugly head today in the middle of my English IV Dual Credit lecture.
We just started King Lear today, potentially the most desperate and sad of all Shakespeare's plays.
It was absolutely serious.
We had already divvied up character parts, and the King Lear character, one very witty National Merit Scholar, spoke these two words of his line: "Here now!"
These are two very ordinary words, but my student did it in the Valerie voice from The Princess Bride. You know, the very old, shaky voiced British woman?
This was something I had absolutely not anticipated, and I lost it.
Only I had just taken a very large gulp of coffee.
And it all came spewing out of my mouth and nose.
King Lear didn't have a chance.
My classroom burst into laughter for a full five minutes. When things had just started to settle down, one of my front row students yelled, "Mrs. Blain! You've broken out in hives!"
Yes. I sure had.
We'll just call them humiliation hives.
Guess we'll give King Lear another shot tomorrow, and I'll leave the coffee for the professionals.
Sweet Jesus, thank you for humor. Some days I take myself way too seriously.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
A Farewell to Grandma Karla
My grandma's funeral service was yesterday in Topeka, Kansas. Josh and I weren't able to fly down for the service, but my grandpa did ask me to write Grandma's eulogy, and my brother Blake read it. What a privilege.
I am so honored to have had a grandma who tried to always reflect Christ. Death is bittersweet- she's free, but we'll miss her here.
Here's the eulogy I wrote, erased, rewrote, and then tweaked. It is incredibly difficult to mash someone's lifetime into a few words.
Putting into Words, What Words Can’t Really Say
Many different adjectives and nouns could describe my grandma. Grandma was a whistler, a hand-holder, and a wonderful hugger. She was a ventriloquist, a cake baker and decorator, a practical joker, a youth group leader, a traveling saleswoman, a jewelry saleswoman, and a Mary Kay consultant. While grandma spent some time doing these things, she spent a lifetime being a daughter, a sister, a mother, grandma, great-grandma, friend, and wife. She was many things to many people, but above all, she loved.
Grandma loved games! Card games, board games, picture games- she was always ready for a challenge, and a win. There are many lessons to be learned while playing games. Sportsmanship. Integrity. Honesty. Humbleness. If you watched and listened, you could glean words of wisdom and life lessons from Grandma while playing games. She once said to Grandpa after beating him at Pitch, “It was only a game…But I won!” See? Honesty.
Grandma loved life. She had a true vigor for living. She embraced her time in each of her roles with zeal. Grandma rarely complained about her odd jobs, and she almost always found something to be excited about and have fun with. Grandma loved life so much and wanted so badly to live that she conquered cancer for nearly thirty years. She decided during her first battle in the 80’s that life was worth fighting for, so she made firm resolution to not just live life, but to love it.
Grandma loved people. In her own words, she “always loved people and was a social bug.” She and grandpa made a ministry out of inviting singles to their house for dinner and games. She loved that ministry and each person who stepped into her home. She and grandpa used to lead a youth group, and by their love, teens were impacted with the love of Christ. Grandma always had jobs where she was able to work with people. Karla’s Cakes and Balloons, JC Penny’s, going door to door to sell Tupperware- each job revolved around forming positive relationships with people. And family. Any form- from immediate family to third cousins twice removed. Family was always a cherished piece of Grandma’s life, and family members were always her favorite people.
Grandma loved Grandpa. Grandpa Larry is a pest to many, a father to four, a grandpa to eleven, a great-grandpa to three, but a lover to only one, to Karla. The two were synonymous with one another. It’s impossible to think Karla without thinking Larry, or think Larry without thinking Karla. June 5th would have marked their 53rd wedding anniversary. Many people fall very short of such a landmark, but Grandma and Grandpa celebrated each year deeper in love than the previous year. Not many couples are quite so perfectly matched, but these two lived a testimony of what Christ’s love truly is. They were faithful. They were servants. They were accountable. They were authentic. And let’s face it, love is messy. It’s not easy to love, and love isn’t just some butterfly emotion you feel. Love is a choice, even when it’s hard. And after 52 years of marriage, Grandma and Grandpa still chose each other. Not the kind of choice you submit to and grit your teethe to and wait for the time pass. No. Theirs was the kind of choice you rejoice in, and celebrate, and eagerly wake up to each and every morning.
Grandma loved God. Her dad taught her to value integrity and honesty while her mom taught her to laugh and have fun, to care and love. But both taught her, as Grandma put it, to “live by the Bible...and if we didn’t want to, Daddy made us want to.” When Grandma Karla was twelve, she gave her heart to Christ and decided for herself that she wanted to follow after His example. Grandma said, “My main goal was to please God,” and she tried to reflect Christ’s actions and words throughout her life.
In October, I received word that my grandma’s cancer was back, but not just back, aggressive. I talked to my principal, scrawled out lesson plans, left my tenth and twelfth grade students, and caught a flight from Idaho to Kansas.
In the days I was able to spend with my grandparents, I asked Grandma if she was scared. She answered me simply by asking, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head?”
So often when dealing with death, language fails. Words fail. Death was never part of the plan- we weren’t meant for separation. And we simply don’t know what to say. It’s usually when we realize that death is creeping in that we begin to live.
But Grandma lived and loved fiercely. She always did. She didn’t wait until her clock began to run out, she loved throughout the whole span of her life.
I think her question, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head,” was more for herself than me.
Grandma’s voice wobbled a bit when she then looked at me and asked, “Have you ever known anyone who’s been healed?”
Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at her and said, “You, Grandma. About a year ago.” She had had cancer cells numbering in the thousands, and within weeks, they dropped below ten, and the doctors couldn’t explain it.
She said, “So I got a year? Why would God only give me a year?”
And it didn’t dawn on me until now. God didn’t give her a year. He gave us a year. Grandma loved so completely and passionately. She lived a great life. God gave us a year, to soak up a little bit more of mom…sister…grandma…friend….and wife. God gave us a year to love her.
We’re all dying. Birth is initial, death is inevitable. It’s the space in-between that we call life, and that life is meant for loving. Grandma modeled that.
First Peter tells us to “love one another earnestly,” and I John tells us that whoever loves “knows God.” Love like Karla Lesslie loved.
We can’t have Life without death. Life is Christ, but we won’t meet Christ until we travel through the grave. But he’s waiting to greet us at the gates of eternity, waiting to love us. The true promise of Life lies on the brink of death. We win. Because Christ is the ultimate prize. But that doesn’t make death any easier for the people left here.
What an incredible impact Grandma Karla made. And while we will miss her, and cry for her, ultimately, we are loved and she was loved.
Paul tells us in Romans 8, verses 37-39 “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our LORD.”
Nothing. No thing will separate us from the love of God.
Grandma wins, because Grandma is with Love, and that love is Jesus Christ.
And that is worth celebrating.
I am so honored to have had a grandma who tried to always reflect Christ. Death is bittersweet- she's free, but we'll miss her here.
Here's the eulogy I wrote, erased, rewrote, and then tweaked. It is incredibly difficult to mash someone's lifetime into a few words.
Putting into Words, What Words Can’t Really Say
Many different adjectives and nouns could describe my grandma. Grandma was a whistler, a hand-holder, and a wonderful hugger. She was a ventriloquist, a cake baker and decorator, a practical joker, a youth group leader, a traveling saleswoman, a jewelry saleswoman, and a Mary Kay consultant. While grandma spent some time doing these things, she spent a lifetime being a daughter, a sister, a mother, grandma, great-grandma, friend, and wife. She was many things to many people, but above all, she loved.
Grandma loved games! Card games, board games, picture games- she was always ready for a challenge, and a win. There are many lessons to be learned while playing games. Sportsmanship. Integrity. Honesty. Humbleness. If you watched and listened, you could glean words of wisdom and life lessons from Grandma while playing games. She once said to Grandpa after beating him at Pitch, “It was only a game…But I won!” See? Honesty.
Grandma loved life. She had a true vigor for living. She embraced her time in each of her roles with zeal. Grandma rarely complained about her odd jobs, and she almost always found something to be excited about and have fun with. Grandma loved life so much and wanted so badly to live that she conquered cancer for nearly thirty years. She decided during her first battle in the 80’s that life was worth fighting for, so she made firm resolution to not just live life, but to love it.
Grandma loved people. In her own words, she “always loved people and was a social bug.” She and grandpa made a ministry out of inviting singles to their house for dinner and games. She loved that ministry and each person who stepped into her home. She and grandpa used to lead a youth group, and by their love, teens were impacted with the love of Christ. Grandma always had jobs where she was able to work with people. Karla’s Cakes and Balloons, JC Penny’s, going door to door to sell Tupperware- each job revolved around forming positive relationships with people. And family. Any form- from immediate family to third cousins twice removed. Family was always a cherished piece of Grandma’s life, and family members were always her favorite people.
Grandma loved Grandpa. Grandpa Larry is a pest to many, a father to four, a grandpa to eleven, a great-grandpa to three, but a lover to only one, to Karla. The two were synonymous with one another. It’s impossible to think Karla without thinking Larry, or think Larry without thinking Karla. June 5th would have marked their 53rd wedding anniversary. Many people fall very short of such a landmark, but Grandma and Grandpa celebrated each year deeper in love than the previous year. Not many couples are quite so perfectly matched, but these two lived a testimony of what Christ’s love truly is. They were faithful. They were servants. They were accountable. They were authentic. And let’s face it, love is messy. It’s not easy to love, and love isn’t just some butterfly emotion you feel. Love is a choice, even when it’s hard. And after 52 years of marriage, Grandma and Grandpa still chose each other. Not the kind of choice you submit to and grit your teethe to and wait for the time pass. No. Theirs was the kind of choice you rejoice in, and celebrate, and eagerly wake up to each and every morning.
Grandma loved God. Her dad taught her to value integrity and honesty while her mom taught her to laugh and have fun, to care and love. But both taught her, as Grandma put it, to “live by the Bible...and if we didn’t want to, Daddy made us want to.” When Grandma Karla was twelve, she gave her heart to Christ and decided for herself that she wanted to follow after His example. Grandma said, “My main goal was to please God,” and she tried to reflect Christ’s actions and words throughout her life.
In October, I received word that my grandma’s cancer was back, but not just back, aggressive. I talked to my principal, scrawled out lesson plans, left my tenth and twelfth grade students, and caught a flight from Idaho to Kansas.
In the days I was able to spend with my grandparents, I asked Grandma if she was scared. She answered me simply by asking, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head?”
So often when dealing with death, language fails. Words fail. Death was never part of the plan- we weren’t meant for separation. And we simply don’t know what to say. It’s usually when we realize that death is creeping in that we begin to live.
But Grandma lived and loved fiercely. She always did. She didn’t wait until her clock began to run out, she loved throughout the whole span of her life.
I think her question, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with a time clock over your head,” was more for herself than me.
Grandma’s voice wobbled a bit when she then looked at me and asked, “Have you ever known anyone who’s been healed?”
Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at her and said, “You, Grandma. About a year ago.” She had had cancer cells numbering in the thousands, and within weeks, they dropped below ten, and the doctors couldn’t explain it.
She said, “So I got a year? Why would God only give me a year?”
And it didn’t dawn on me until now. God didn’t give her a year. He gave us a year. Grandma loved so completely and passionately. She lived a great life. God gave us a year, to soak up a little bit more of mom…sister…grandma…friend….and wife. God gave us a year to love her.
We’re all dying. Birth is initial, death is inevitable. It’s the space in-between that we call life, and that life is meant for loving. Grandma modeled that.
First Peter tells us to “love one another earnestly,” and I John tells us that whoever loves “knows God.” Love like Karla Lesslie loved.
We can’t have Life without death. Life is Christ, but we won’t meet Christ until we travel through the grave. But he’s waiting to greet us at the gates of eternity, waiting to love us. The true promise of Life lies on the brink of death. We win. Because Christ is the ultimate prize. But that doesn’t make death any easier for the people left here.
What an incredible impact Grandma Karla made. And while we will miss her, and cry for her, ultimately, we are loved and she was loved.
Paul tells us in Romans 8, verses 37-39 “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our LORD.”
Nothing. No thing will separate us from the love of God.
Grandma wins, because Grandma is with Love, and that love is Jesus Christ.
And that is worth celebrating.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
I Am A Seed
I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately.
Last Thursday my grandpa, Elmore Blain, passed away.
Very early this morning, Ashley’s grandma, Karla Lesslie, passed away.
I want to share a thought that has encouraged me.
It might come out a bit like a written sermon, but hey, I’m a pastor. I can’t help it.
Paul writes to the church in Corinth, and talks to them about death and resurrection. Especially resurrection. They are arguing over whether or not there will be a resurrection at all, and if so, what kind of bodies the people will have, where those bodies will come from, what they will look like, how will they work, etc.
Paul says this;
“But someone will ask, 'How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?' How foolish! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives it’s own body.”
- I Corinthians 15:35-38
We have four Norway Maple trees in our yard. Every year I rake up millions of seeds - the helicopter wing kind. They are small seeds, about the size of a pea. They grow into these huge, beautiful, shady, amazing trees.
Paul says the resurrection body is no more similar to our earthly bodies than a seed is to a tree. The seed is just the beginning. The seed is the starting point. The tree is like the seed in some ways. An apple seed doesn’t grow into an orange tree. A maple seed doesn’t grow into a birch. In that way the seed and the tree are the same. But the tree is so much bigger and brighter and more alive than the seed ever was, even when it was still alive and growing on the branch.
The seed is complex, beautiful, and amazing. I wonder at how something so tiny can grow into something so enormous. But it was not made to be a seed. A seed is only a small representation of what is to come. A seed is supposed to be a tree, or wheat, or a flower, or a potato. It’s not supposed to stay a seed.
The catch is that in order for the seed to become what it is supposed to be, it has to die. It has to give up its life, and be put into the ground. Think about a tree that is 100 years old, and someone being sad that the seed had to die before the tree could grow. That sadness, if it is exists at all, is so small that it starts to not be a sadness at all.
When people we love die, it hurts. I watched my grandpa take his last breath, with three other grown men, and my mom, all of us crying like babies, and my grandma clutching his arm, weeping. Ashley sat up many sleepless nights by her grandma’s side, the doctors saying, “It should be today.” every day for a week. Death hurts. We mourn. It isn’t easy.
But we weren’t made for this world. Our true life is still waiting for us. If we live forever here on this earth, we can never become who we were deeply, truly, eternally made to be. A seed isn’t supposed to stay a seed. It’s supposed to become a tree.
Later in that same passage, Paul says,
“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'"
And so Death is no longer a defeat. Death is no longer the final disaster. Death becomes a necessary transition into true life. Through faith in Christ, Death has been defeated. Through a beautiful irony, death in Christ means the beginning of true life. Bigger, brighter, stronger, more beautiful.
We should not mourn for the body that dies, and is planted in the ground. We should be filled with joy and hope that the life of one who has their hope in Christ has not ended, but only just begun.
I will end with lyrics from the song “I Am A Seed,” by David Crowder Band.
“Oh I've been pushed down into the ground
Oh how I have been trampled down
Lord I put my trust in thee
You won't turn your back on me
Oh I am a seed
Oh I am a seed
I've been pushed down into the ground
But I will rise up a tree”
Last Thursday my grandpa, Elmore Blain, passed away.
Very early this morning, Ashley’s grandma, Karla Lesslie, passed away.
I want to share a thought that has encouraged me.
It might come out a bit like a written sermon, but hey, I’m a pastor. I can’t help it.
Paul writes to the church in Corinth, and talks to them about death and resurrection. Especially resurrection. They are arguing over whether or not there will be a resurrection at all, and if so, what kind of bodies the people will have, where those bodies will come from, what they will look like, how will they work, etc.
Paul says this;
“But someone will ask, 'How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?' How foolish! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives it’s own body.”
- I Corinthians 15:35-38
We have four Norway Maple trees in our yard. Every year I rake up millions of seeds - the helicopter wing kind. They are small seeds, about the size of a pea. They grow into these huge, beautiful, shady, amazing trees.
Paul says the resurrection body is no more similar to our earthly bodies than a seed is to a tree. The seed is just the beginning. The seed is the starting point. The tree is like the seed in some ways. An apple seed doesn’t grow into an orange tree. A maple seed doesn’t grow into a birch. In that way the seed and the tree are the same. But the tree is so much bigger and brighter and more alive than the seed ever was, even when it was still alive and growing on the branch.
The seed is complex, beautiful, and amazing. I wonder at how something so tiny can grow into something so enormous. But it was not made to be a seed. A seed is only a small representation of what is to come. A seed is supposed to be a tree, or wheat, or a flower, or a potato. It’s not supposed to stay a seed.
The catch is that in order for the seed to become what it is supposed to be, it has to die. It has to give up its life, and be put into the ground. Think about a tree that is 100 years old, and someone being sad that the seed had to die before the tree could grow. That sadness, if it is exists at all, is so small that it starts to not be a sadness at all.
When people we love die, it hurts. I watched my grandpa take his last breath, with three other grown men, and my mom, all of us crying like babies, and my grandma clutching his arm, weeping. Ashley sat up many sleepless nights by her grandma’s side, the doctors saying, “It should be today.” every day for a week. Death hurts. We mourn. It isn’t easy.
But we weren’t made for this world. Our true life is still waiting for us. If we live forever here on this earth, we can never become who we were deeply, truly, eternally made to be. A seed isn’t supposed to stay a seed. It’s supposed to become a tree.
Later in that same passage, Paul says,
“When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'"
And so Death is no longer a defeat. Death is no longer the final disaster. Death becomes a necessary transition into true life. Through faith in Christ, Death has been defeated. Through a beautiful irony, death in Christ means the beginning of true life. Bigger, brighter, stronger, more beautiful.
We should not mourn for the body that dies, and is planted in the ground. We should be filled with joy and hope that the life of one who has their hope in Christ has not ended, but only just begun.
I will end with lyrics from the song “I Am A Seed,” by David Crowder Band.
“Oh I've been pushed down into the ground
Oh how I have been trampled down
Lord I put my trust in thee
You won't turn your back on me
Oh I am a seed
Oh I am a seed
I've been pushed down into the ground
But I will rise up a tree”
Gone Home
In October of 2010, I hopped a last minute flight to visit my grandma and grandpa after Grandma had been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors thought then that she would pass away within just a few months, but she didn't. She fought. Hard.
Almost eighteen months later, my grandma may have lost her fight against cancer, but she really won her fight for Life.
I was able to fly home this last weekend, and soak up a few more memories, kisses, and conversations with the grandma who baked my wedding cake, the grandma who told me as a kid to cry all my tears into buckets so I could save them, the grandma who led a beautiful example of what marriage could look like and lived that marriage for almost 53 years.
Josh's grandpa Elmore just passed away a week ago today. His service was Monday, and it was a beautiful celebration of Elmore's life. Elmore lived a life devoted to God, and has left behind a legacy of children and grandchildren who want to pursue the same Christ he did.
Josh and I are so blessed to have grandparents who have impacted the kingdom, and who have modeled Christ-likeness. Were they perfect? Absolutely not. But were they sold out believers? Absolutely yes.
I can only imagine what Grandma opened her eyes to this morning as she left this earthly home to find embrace in the Father's arms. And I can only imagine the reunion that is taking place in the lofty realms right now.
And I can't help but smile. I'm heart broken at my own loss of a grandma, but overjoyed at the freedom of pain and weariness that Grandma has found.
Today is a good day.
And Grandma wins.
Almost eighteen months later, my grandma may have lost her fight against cancer, but she really won her fight for Life.
I was able to fly home this last weekend, and soak up a few more memories, kisses, and conversations with the grandma who baked my wedding cake, the grandma who told me as a kid to cry all my tears into buckets so I could save them, the grandma who led a beautiful example of what marriage could look like and lived that marriage for almost 53 years.
Josh's grandpa Elmore just passed away a week ago today. His service was Monday, and it was a beautiful celebration of Elmore's life. Elmore lived a life devoted to God, and has left behind a legacy of children and grandchildren who want to pursue the same Christ he did.
Josh and I are so blessed to have grandparents who have impacted the kingdom, and who have modeled Christ-likeness. Were they perfect? Absolutely not. But were they sold out believers? Absolutely yes.
I can only imagine what Grandma opened her eyes to this morning as she left this earthly home to find embrace in the Father's arms. And I can only imagine the reunion that is taking place in the lofty realms right now.
And I can't help but smile. I'm heart broken at my own loss of a grandma, but overjoyed at the freedom of pain and weariness that Grandma has found.
Today is a good day.
And Grandma wins.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
The Iliad Comes to Life!
When the semester ended, six of my brightest seniors decided they'd rather be in my dual credit English class, leaving behind twelve very cranky seniors who just want to graduate. They don't want to read Hamlet, they don't want to read Faust, and they don't want to read The Iliad.
The Iliad is giving them particular grief because they just can't seem to keep the character names straight, or the allegiance of each character.
I'm pulling my hair out.
I gave them a quiz...
Everyone failed.
I tried a new, groundbreaking instruction method called the PEAK System, then gave them the exact same quiz to check for growth...
Everyone improved, but half only improved a to a higher "F".
How do I get these seniors to understand Homer's Iliad!????
Possibly one of the most random ideas I have ever had seems to have done the trick.
I bought toys.
Well, actually, Josh bought toys while he was in town picking up three wonderful OKWU students from the airport for Where's Weippe Ski Retreat, and he found an array of colorful and somewhat strange action figures, including G.I. Joe's, PEZ, and Happy Little Family.
I taped yellow on the gods, orange on the Achaeans, green on the Trojans, and pink on the Spartans. Some figures had two colors, such as Achilles, because he is both god and man, Myrmidon and Achaean, and also Helen because she was Spartan, then was stolen by a Trojan.
I thought up a funny saying for each figure, playing with them as I explained (which, if you know me well, then you know this is one of the hugest stretches of my entire life because I didn't even play with toys as a child...I played with paper I dug out of the trashcan!), then mixed all of the action figures up and told one of the boys to give a shot at his own explanation.
To my delight, he got it!
And so did boy #2, and boy #3, and boy #4.
One pricey investment in childhood action figures may have just saved my burnt out seniors from failure.
This puts a whole new twist on differentiated instruction, and while I don't think I'll be winning any awards for it, at least they've got it! And I finally learned to play with toys. Blake, you would be so proud!
The Iliad is giving them particular grief because they just can't seem to keep the character names straight, or the allegiance of each character.
I'm pulling my hair out.
I gave them a quiz...
Everyone failed.
I tried a new, groundbreaking instruction method called the PEAK System, then gave them the exact same quiz to check for growth...
Everyone improved, but half only improved a to a higher "F".
How do I get these seniors to understand Homer's Iliad!????
Possibly one of the most random ideas I have ever had seems to have done the trick.
I bought toys.
Well, actually, Josh bought toys while he was in town picking up three wonderful OKWU students from the airport for Where's Weippe Ski Retreat, and he found an array of colorful and somewhat strange action figures, including G.I. Joe's, PEZ, and Happy Little Family.
I taped yellow on the gods, orange on the Achaeans, green on the Trojans, and pink on the Spartans. Some figures had two colors, such as Achilles, because he is both god and man, Myrmidon and Achaean, and also Helen because she was Spartan, then was stolen by a Trojan.
I thought up a funny saying for each figure, playing with them as I explained (which, if you know me well, then you know this is one of the hugest stretches of my entire life because I didn't even play with toys as a child...I played with paper I dug out of the trashcan!), then mixed all of the action figures up and told one of the boys to give a shot at his own explanation.
To my delight, he got it!
And so did boy #2, and boy #3, and boy #4.
One pricey investment in childhood action figures may have just saved my burnt out seniors from failure.
This puts a whole new twist on differentiated instruction, and while I don't think I'll be winning any awards for it, at least they've got it! And I finally learned to play with toys. Blake, you would be so proud!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Vanity is not Fair
The sign of a truly great book or movie is that emotion is created or stirred within the reader/watcher.
I try to get my students to appreciate literature in its ability to make the reader mourn a character never tangible, or laugh at an invisible event seen only in the mind's own eye. I also try to relay the value of literature when it makes the reader mad.
Emotion is good, and through literature, full emotions can be experienced.
"To Kill A Mockingbird" stirs up a sense of justice and anger for the lack of justice among citizens of Alabama.
"The Iliad" stirs pride for Hector as a hero, and hurt over his death. It makes the reader hate Achilles for abusing Hector, but then love him for his selflessness to save Briseis.
"Fahrenheit 451" makes the reader stop and consider the importance of history and literature as Ray Bradbury masterfully pens a stanza from "Dover Beach," whose theme laments the loss of faith among people, which, to Guy Montag, serves as a lamentation over the loss of knowledge and memory. This lamentation pushes Montag to redeem society of its ignorance, even though he loses everything in the process.
So many wonderful books provide examples of how to live, and so many novels point toward Christ. I love picking out themes and plots that point toward Truth.
But today, as I watched the Hollywood hit "Vanity Fair," I felt only anger. There was no justice, no grace, no lamenting loss and persevering to recover the things that fell away. There was only...selfishness. Greed. Dishonesty.
There was no love.
Thakeray's 1678 masterpiece has been bouncing around in my head all day, because it is only hopelessness.
If society lost justice, heroism, faith, and perseverance, then society would be "Vanity Fair," an endless flea market of cheap shots and selfish gain.
In my anger toward the movie, I realized how empty life could be if I lived as Rebecca Sharp or Rawden Crawley.
It would be meaningless. Desperate. Lost.
The English teacher in me needs some kind of point. Some kind of purpose.
Why write "Vanity Fair?"
You can read a summary here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vanity_Fair_%28novel%29.
Your thoughts?
I try to get my students to appreciate literature in its ability to make the reader mourn a character never tangible, or laugh at an invisible event seen only in the mind's own eye. I also try to relay the value of literature when it makes the reader mad.
Emotion is good, and through literature, full emotions can be experienced.
"To Kill A Mockingbird" stirs up a sense of justice and anger for the lack of justice among citizens of Alabama.
"The Iliad" stirs pride for Hector as a hero, and hurt over his death. It makes the reader hate Achilles for abusing Hector, but then love him for his selflessness to save Briseis.
"Fahrenheit 451" makes the reader stop and consider the importance of history and literature as Ray Bradbury masterfully pens a stanza from "Dover Beach," whose theme laments the loss of faith among people, which, to Guy Montag, serves as a lamentation over the loss of knowledge and memory. This lamentation pushes Montag to redeem society of its ignorance, even though he loses everything in the process.
So many wonderful books provide examples of how to live, and so many novels point toward Christ. I love picking out themes and plots that point toward Truth.
But today, as I watched the Hollywood hit "Vanity Fair," I felt only anger. There was no justice, no grace, no lamenting loss and persevering to recover the things that fell away. There was only...selfishness. Greed. Dishonesty.
There was no love.
Thakeray's 1678 masterpiece has been bouncing around in my head all day, because it is only hopelessness.
If society lost justice, heroism, faith, and perseverance, then society would be "Vanity Fair," an endless flea market of cheap shots and selfish gain.
In my anger toward the movie, I realized how empty life could be if I lived as Rebecca Sharp or Rawden Crawley.
It would be meaningless. Desperate. Lost.
The English teacher in me needs some kind of point. Some kind of purpose.
Why write "Vanity Fair?"
You can read a summary here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vanity_Fair_%28novel%29.
Your thoughts?
Saturday, January 7, 2012
New Year, New Friends
I was actually nervous as I pulled away from our house today and drove the 7-mile drive along the river to our neighboring town. The new music teacher and I decided to get together, and I told Josh, "I'll either be back soon, which means it didn't go well, or I'll be gone a while, which means we hit it off."
I've sent Liz several notes this year, just trying to encourage her in her first year of teaching, and Tuesday she sent me an email titled, "Let's be friends." A few more emails, and we decided to meet for coffee.
Some of my favorite memories were made over coffee, including nothing but a friend, and time.
Four hours after Liz and I sat down, I decided I've finally made a friend here my heart resonates with, much like my friends from college and high school.
We talked about music, we talked about literature. We talked about education, culture shock in our small town, the need to be silly, and our love for games. We talked about God.
And I'm just thankful. God brought Josh and I here, and he knew I wanted a friend. It's awesome to see his faithfulness at work. I've been blessed with so many great friends throughout the years, and I'm excited that maybe I've stumbled upon another one. Here. It's been so hard to find a great friend here, in Kooskia.
But God is faithful.
And I am most assuredly delighted.
I've sent Liz several notes this year, just trying to encourage her in her first year of teaching, and Tuesday she sent me an email titled, "Let's be friends." A few more emails, and we decided to meet for coffee.
Some of my favorite memories were made over coffee, including nothing but a friend, and time.
Four hours after Liz and I sat down, I decided I've finally made a friend here my heart resonates with, much like my friends from college and high school.
We talked about music, we talked about literature. We talked about education, culture shock in our small town, the need to be silly, and our love for games. We talked about God.
And I'm just thankful. God brought Josh and I here, and he knew I wanted a friend. It's awesome to see his faithfulness at work. I've been blessed with so many great friends throughout the years, and I'm excited that maybe I've stumbled upon another one. Here. It's been so hard to find a great friend here, in Kooskia.
But God is faithful.
And I am most assuredly delighted.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Reunited, And It Feels So Good!
Josh and I are counting ourselves pretty lucky to have friends who not only flew all the way to Idaho to spend part of their Christmas vacation with us, but who also spent their second anniversary with us.
Brett and Rebecka were here for almost a whole week! We spent much of our time laughing over games and college memories, but we also spent time talking about literature, and the Word, driving around the scenic mountains of northern Idaho, going side-ways while driving around the scenic mountains of Idaho (whoops!), and watching the new TV series, "Once Upon a Time." Brett and Rebecka also spoiled our two dogs, Ivan and Stella, both of whom have been pacing the house all day long searching for their new-found friends.
Brett and Rebecka were here to witness our rival basketball game, as well as the dodge-ball game at half-time between CV teachers and the opposing school's teachers. I haven't busted out my dodge-ball moves since college, and sadly, CV did not walk away victorious.
Brett and Rebecka asked many questions and pointed out cultural differences I have already gotten used to. It seemed almost shocking to realize much of Idaho's culture shock has already waned for me, like the size of butter sticks, camp-trailer main streets, and multiple bars in towns of 500 or less.
We had one unexpected visitor, this week, one who was quite unwelcome. Amid the remodeling of our bathroom, Josh and I also did a quick remodel so that Brett and Rebecka would have their own room while they were here.
Josh was outside, and I heard a tell-tale "squeak," then a furry little head popped out from behind a dresser.
I started screaming and crying almost simultaneously, while Ivan and Stella sat in the doorway looking confused. The mouse ran right by them unscathed from their dog-like brilliance.
Josh rushed in to my hysterics, set several traps, then we left to pick Brett and Rebecka up from the airport. Peanut butter was the first bait, but the little rodent scraped the peanut butter off, then scurried away.
The last day of Brett and Rebecka's stay, we found more signs of our unwanted tenant. Josh set up more traps, this time with cheddar cheese, and the little rascal wasn't quite so skilled. My husband is my hero!
It was so good to have friends. I take for granted people who I can just pick up right where I left off with, and Brett and Rebecka are those kinds of friends.
This will be a Christmas to remember!
In two short days, Josh and I will jump in our Jeep Grand Cherokee and head for Rapid City to spend several days with Don and Patty, as well as my mom and dad, and Tom, Andrew, and Austin.
This is a Christmas of transition in terms of traditions and settings, but where there is family, there is celebration.
To each of you traveling this Christmas, be sure to take lots of pictures, sing lots of Christmas songs, and enjoy your family!
Much love to each of you!
Brett and Rebecka were here for almost a whole week! We spent much of our time laughing over games and college memories, but we also spent time talking about literature, and the Word, driving around the scenic mountains of northern Idaho, going side-ways while driving around the scenic mountains of Idaho (whoops!), and watching the new TV series, "Once Upon a Time." Brett and Rebecka also spoiled our two dogs, Ivan and Stella, both of whom have been pacing the house all day long searching for their new-found friends.
Brett and Rebecka were here to witness our rival basketball game, as well as the dodge-ball game at half-time between CV teachers and the opposing school's teachers. I haven't busted out my dodge-ball moves since college, and sadly, CV did not walk away victorious.
Brett and Rebecka asked many questions and pointed out cultural differences I have already gotten used to. It seemed almost shocking to realize much of Idaho's culture shock has already waned for me, like the size of butter sticks, camp-trailer main streets, and multiple bars in towns of 500 or less.
We had one unexpected visitor, this week, one who was quite unwelcome. Amid the remodeling of our bathroom, Josh and I also did a quick remodel so that Brett and Rebecka would have their own room while they were here.
Josh was outside, and I heard a tell-tale "squeak," then a furry little head popped out from behind a dresser.
I started screaming and crying almost simultaneously, while Ivan and Stella sat in the doorway looking confused. The mouse ran right by them unscathed from their dog-like brilliance.
Josh rushed in to my hysterics, set several traps, then we left to pick Brett and Rebecka up from the airport. Peanut butter was the first bait, but the little rodent scraped the peanut butter off, then scurried away.
The last day of Brett and Rebecka's stay, we found more signs of our unwanted tenant. Josh set up more traps, this time with cheddar cheese, and the little rascal wasn't quite so skilled. My husband is my hero!
It was so good to have friends. I take for granted people who I can just pick up right where I left off with, and Brett and Rebecka are those kinds of friends.
This will be a Christmas to remember!
In two short days, Josh and I will jump in our Jeep Grand Cherokee and head for Rapid City to spend several days with Don and Patty, as well as my mom and dad, and Tom, Andrew, and Austin.
This is a Christmas of transition in terms of traditions and settings, but where there is family, there is celebration.
To each of you traveling this Christmas, be sure to take lots of pictures, sing lots of Christmas songs, and enjoy your family!
Much love to each of you!
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Sunday Morning Thoughts
I'm up early, which is strange- can't sleep. The Christmas tree lights are on, the valley is still dark, our two Schnauzers are curled up at my feet, there is a hot cup of coffee on the table beside me, and Josh is sleeping.
The day hasn't quite started yet, and even though our small house is peaceful and unchanged, with flecks of snow nestled around the edges, my heart is restless, ready for the change coming.
Josh and I spent last night in Weippe with Don and Patty, who I am ever proud to call parents, and very blessed to call friends. We've spent hundreds of evenings in their house- laughing, eating, crying, joking- but this time, we didn't sit around the table to play games, we sat around a very bare living room, with boxes decorating the floors.
It will be so hard to tell Don and Patty goodbye as they head for South Dakota. Josh and I are so excited for the adventures that lie ahead for them, but we're grieving for ourselves.
This will be a lonely valley.
I guess this isn't a blog where I have much to say. Change can be exciting and we can be eager for it, but when we have to sit back and watch others go first, driving Change, it's really hard to be left at the curb, waving goodbye.
Please join me in prayer for Don and Patty as they go. I know God has something wonderful in store for them! And I know God can take care of Josh and I here, too.
The day hasn't quite started yet, and even though our small house is peaceful and unchanged, with flecks of snow nestled around the edges, my heart is restless, ready for the change coming.
Josh and I spent last night in Weippe with Don and Patty, who I am ever proud to call parents, and very blessed to call friends. We've spent hundreds of evenings in their house- laughing, eating, crying, joking- but this time, we didn't sit around the table to play games, we sat around a very bare living room, with boxes decorating the floors.
It will be so hard to tell Don and Patty goodbye as they head for South Dakota. Josh and I are so excited for the adventures that lie ahead for them, but we're grieving for ourselves.
This will be a lonely valley.
I guess this isn't a blog where I have much to say. Change can be exciting and we can be eager for it, but when we have to sit back and watch others go first, driving Change, it's really hard to be left at the curb, waving goodbye.
Please join me in prayer for Don and Patty as they go. I know God has something wonderful in store for them! And I know God can take care of Josh and I here, too.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Love Wins
Something hit me this week. Last year, as a first-year teacher, it seemed like everything revolved around God teaching me humility, and grace, and strength. Ashley had to grow and change and mature into Mrs. Blain, and some days were so much less eloquent than others. I hadn't stopped to think about God teaching me love through my call as a teacher, because I thought I was learning love through marriage. Teachers need to have classroom management and structure and consistency. But love?
So many days I feel like I sell my students short, because I can't give them enough (fill in the blank). Time. Energy. Joy. Acceptance. Safety. Hope. Authenticity.
But love?
This year could not be more different from that first year as a high school teacher. I was learning classroom management, and how to deal with cranky parents, and students who didn't want to learn, and co-workers who didn't care about anyone other than themselves. But this year, nothing is about me, really. This year, it's about my students. And love.
The weariness, the brokenness, the vulnerability. I see it so clearly in my students faces, in their actions and their words. I see it in their exhaustion and anger. I even see it in their grades. So many of my students come to school to simply get away from home. The students with perfect attendance seem to be failing their classes. It's not about getting the grades, it's about getting out.
I've been paying attention to my relationship with students. So many of them don't know how to have healthy relationships with anyone, so I try to be intentional about praising them, listening to their stories, showing them it's okay to be angry, but that they have to use words, not actions, to convey that anger. And some days, that is so hard.
I'm seeing my love for these students grow and morph the longer I teach in rural Idaho.
Just when I think I have love figured out, God reveals something new, like with my students. They are so inept at times to show or even accept love; they can't earn it- I simply choose to give it.
And that's how Christ's love is for me. I've been trying to wrap my head around that revelation this week, then tonight, a new thought hit me: God loved me the moment I was born, and that love will be constant until the day He embraces me at His throne. He loves me the same now as He did when I cheated on a spelling test in the first grade, or when I stayed up with a friend and stroked her hair after a break-up, or when I spewed anger at a co-worker. God's love doesn't change, or waver, or get lost amid my own flaws. God hurts when I hurt, and hurts when I sin, but His love never runs out or becomes less.
I want to love like that.
Unconditional, raw, can't-earn-it-or-lose-it love.
Because love wins.
If I can show students that kind of love, then Love really does win, because that kind of love is Christ.
Our world is about to drastically change in Idaho. Don and Patty are moving, and Josh and I will be void of family. I've yelled at God quite a bit these last few months, over many things. My family...miles. Josh's family...change. A baby...loss. My grandma...cancer. Josh's grandpa...Lou Gehrig's. Loneliness. Darkness. Cold.
Some days, I vacillate on one question: Why should we stay?
Force? No. Expectations? No. Certainly not for "scenic" Idaho. I have no loyalties to this dark and gloomy state!
But for Love? For Christ? I'm seeing the unmistakable call placed on Josh's life as Eternal Hope Wesleyan Pastor, and the call placed on my life as CVHS teacher, Mrs. Blain.
Even though I still yell at God, I can't help but feel excitement over being a part of this call, this love.
I pray that Love will spread like wildfire! No pain is wasted, in me, in Josh, in my students, in our church, or our family.
Love wins. And that is worth staying for.
So many days I feel like I sell my students short, because I can't give them enough (fill in the blank). Time. Energy. Joy. Acceptance. Safety. Hope. Authenticity.
But love?
This year could not be more different from that first year as a high school teacher. I was learning classroom management, and how to deal with cranky parents, and students who didn't want to learn, and co-workers who didn't care about anyone other than themselves. But this year, nothing is about me, really. This year, it's about my students. And love.
The weariness, the brokenness, the vulnerability. I see it so clearly in my students faces, in their actions and their words. I see it in their exhaustion and anger. I even see it in their grades. So many of my students come to school to simply get away from home. The students with perfect attendance seem to be failing their classes. It's not about getting the grades, it's about getting out.
I've been paying attention to my relationship with students. So many of them don't know how to have healthy relationships with anyone, so I try to be intentional about praising them, listening to their stories, showing them it's okay to be angry, but that they have to use words, not actions, to convey that anger. And some days, that is so hard.
I'm seeing my love for these students grow and morph the longer I teach in rural Idaho.
Just when I think I have love figured out, God reveals something new, like with my students. They are so inept at times to show or even accept love; they can't earn it- I simply choose to give it.
And that's how Christ's love is for me. I've been trying to wrap my head around that revelation this week, then tonight, a new thought hit me: God loved me the moment I was born, and that love will be constant until the day He embraces me at His throne. He loves me the same now as He did when I cheated on a spelling test in the first grade, or when I stayed up with a friend and stroked her hair after a break-up, or when I spewed anger at a co-worker. God's love doesn't change, or waver, or get lost amid my own flaws. God hurts when I hurt, and hurts when I sin, but His love never runs out or becomes less.
I want to love like that.
Unconditional, raw, can't-earn-it-or-lose-it love.
Because love wins.
If I can show students that kind of love, then Love really does win, because that kind of love is Christ.
Our world is about to drastically change in Idaho. Don and Patty are moving, and Josh and I will be void of family. I've yelled at God quite a bit these last few months, over many things. My family...miles. Josh's family...change. A baby...loss. My grandma...cancer. Josh's grandpa...Lou Gehrig's. Loneliness. Darkness. Cold.
Some days, I vacillate on one question: Why should we stay?
Force? No. Expectations? No. Certainly not for "scenic" Idaho. I have no loyalties to this dark and gloomy state!
But for Love? For Christ? I'm seeing the unmistakable call placed on Josh's life as Eternal Hope Wesleyan Pastor, and the call placed on my life as CVHS teacher, Mrs. Blain.
Even though I still yell at God, I can't help but feel excitement over being a part of this call, this love.
I pray that Love will spread like wildfire! No pain is wasted, in me, in Josh, in my students, in our church, or our family.
Love wins. And that is worth staying for.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Trick Or Treat!
Well, kids, it's time for the LesslieBlain Odyssey's inaugural Halloween post, so get out your favorite costume and your bowl of goodies. Here goes.
This is the first year that Ashley and I have given candy to trick-or-treaters. I'd like to share a few of our favorite quotes from the kids who visited our house.
As I opened the door to two very young kids, I said "Hi guys!" A three-year-old girl quickly piped back "Hi guys!"
When Ashley asked a girl if she was supposed to be a fairy princess, she confidently replied "No. I'm a fairy princess."
One very eager boy, before we had given him any candy, spouted out "Thank yo-- I mean trick or treat!"
Ashley opened the door to one very short, very stout trick-or-treater who only had visible eyes. She said, "Happy Halloween! Are you having fun tonight?" The candy hunter replied in a deep, not-so-childish voice, "I'm having a great time." That trick-or-treater was no eight-year-old...and he was way more trick than treat.
I even gave out candy to the kids on my bus - as they got off, of course. One fourth grader was so blown away by the gesture that he forgot what holiday it was, and blurted out "Thanks! Merry Christmas!"
Hope you had a great Halloween! See you next time.
Oh, and Ashley and I also found this hilarious. Especially the last video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YQpbzQ6gzs&feature=youtu.be&noredirect=1
This is the first year that Ashley and I have given candy to trick-or-treaters. I'd like to share a few of our favorite quotes from the kids who visited our house.
As I opened the door to two very young kids, I said "Hi guys!" A three-year-old girl quickly piped back "Hi guys!"
When Ashley asked a girl if she was supposed to be a fairy princess, she confidently replied "No. I'm a fairy princess."
One very eager boy, before we had given him any candy, spouted out "Thank yo-- I mean trick or treat!"
Ashley opened the door to one very short, very stout trick-or-treater who only had visible eyes. She said, "Happy Halloween! Are you having fun tonight?" The candy hunter replied in a deep, not-so-childish voice, "I'm having a great time." That trick-or-treater was no eight-year-old...and he was way more trick than treat.
I even gave out candy to the kids on my bus - as they got off, of course. One fourth grader was so blown away by the gesture that he forgot what holiday it was, and blurted out "Thanks! Merry Christmas!"
Hope you had a great Halloween! See you next time.
Oh, and Ashley and I also found this hilarious. Especially the last video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YQpbzQ6gzs&feature=youtu.be&noredirect=1
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Light Shines Through the Darkness
The last few weeks in Kooskia, Idaho, have been dreary. When winter rolls in, so does the darkness.
Living in the valley spurs Josh and I to cherish our quickly fading sunlight.
This morning, we woke up to phone calls, we dressed quickly, then headed out the door.
On the way up the mountain, I noticed today was not a dreary day. It was chilly, so fog was rolling through the hills, but as we continued to drive up, sun beams burst through the fog. The light was present, and the light was warm.
We have a couple in our church. He's 70ish, but you'd never know, and she's somewhere close in age, but even harder to guess.
They're fit- they're active. They travel everywhere. They love people and animals and even put on a church camp for disabled adults and kids. The community has embraced them for nearly thirty years, and our small church has embraced them, too, so the heart strings are rooted deep.
Josh and I are still reeling in shock.
Last night, Beth went to pick apples. The apple season is coming to an end, and Beth hates waste. She talks about the land as a blessing, and being good stewards of the land means using what is provided, not wasting.
Phil wasn't home yet, so Beth loaded up on the new four-wheeler Phil got her for her birthday, rallied up their nine adopted dogs, and made her way to the off-road apple orchard on their property.
It was nearly dark when Phil made his way home. Winter calls darkness in early. He said something just wasn't quite right- some of the dogs were home, but a few weren't, and neither was the four-wheeler.
With tears in his eyes this morning, Phil, still in yesterday's boots and chaps, said "I expected to find her stuck. Not dead."
Beth had gathered five bags of apples, and was on her way home, when somehow, the rig flipped on top of her. And that's how Phil finally found her. He'd searched all over their property, gone to every pond, when one of those three dogs came to him, and then led Phil back to his wife.
Phil said, "Some people are married for years and get tired of each other. We never did."
Saturday, Phil is asking for close friends to come up to the ranch to juice Beth's apples. He said, "If I let Beth's apples rot, she's gonna yell at me in the afterlife! She'll say, 'You wasted my apples!'" I can't think of a better way to hold memorial for this dear woman- it's so Beth.
Darkness may last for a while, and sometimes it seems as though it will never clear, but light bursts through the dreary fog, and brings warmth, and life, and hope.
Church will start in a few hours, and our small body of 25 will tearfully listen as Josh brings a message from the beatitudes.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."
God knew even before we did.
Though the darkness may last for the night, joy comes in the morning, and that joy is Jesus, because separation is only momentary.
And Beth wins.
Living in the valley spurs Josh and I to cherish our quickly fading sunlight.
This morning, we woke up to phone calls, we dressed quickly, then headed out the door.
On the way up the mountain, I noticed today was not a dreary day. It was chilly, so fog was rolling through the hills, but as we continued to drive up, sun beams burst through the fog. The light was present, and the light was warm.
We have a couple in our church. He's 70ish, but you'd never know, and she's somewhere close in age, but even harder to guess.
They're fit- they're active. They travel everywhere. They love people and animals and even put on a church camp for disabled adults and kids. The community has embraced them for nearly thirty years, and our small church has embraced them, too, so the heart strings are rooted deep.
Josh and I are still reeling in shock.
Last night, Beth went to pick apples. The apple season is coming to an end, and Beth hates waste. She talks about the land as a blessing, and being good stewards of the land means using what is provided, not wasting.
Phil wasn't home yet, so Beth loaded up on the new four-wheeler Phil got her for her birthday, rallied up their nine adopted dogs, and made her way to the off-road apple orchard on their property.
It was nearly dark when Phil made his way home. Winter calls darkness in early. He said something just wasn't quite right- some of the dogs were home, but a few weren't, and neither was the four-wheeler.
With tears in his eyes this morning, Phil, still in yesterday's boots and chaps, said "I expected to find her stuck. Not dead."
Beth had gathered five bags of apples, and was on her way home, when somehow, the rig flipped on top of her. And that's how Phil finally found her. He'd searched all over their property, gone to every pond, when one of those three dogs came to him, and then led Phil back to his wife.
Phil said, "Some people are married for years and get tired of each other. We never did."
Saturday, Phil is asking for close friends to come up to the ranch to juice Beth's apples. He said, "If I let Beth's apples rot, she's gonna yell at me in the afterlife! She'll say, 'You wasted my apples!'" I can't think of a better way to hold memorial for this dear woman- it's so Beth.
Darkness may last for a while, and sometimes it seems as though it will never clear, but light bursts through the dreary fog, and brings warmth, and life, and hope.
Church will start in a few hours, and our small body of 25 will tearfully listen as Josh brings a message from the beatitudes.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."
God knew even before we did.
Though the darkness may last for the night, joy comes in the morning, and that joy is Jesus, because separation is only momentary.
And Beth wins.
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